His thumb dragged lightly over my knuckles. “Yeah, Baby Boy,” he said softly. “It’s perfect.”
We walked in silence for a while, sand crunching softly beneath our feet. When we reached the pier, we walked to the end and leaned against the railing overlooking the bay. CJ stood beside me, our shoulders touching.
“You ever think about who you would be if things were different?” he asked quietly. “If you had never met Adrian?”
I looked out over the water. “All the time.”
A small silence settled between us.
“It’s strange,” CJ said. “I used to think grief was just missing someone.” His fingers tightened slightly around mine. “But I don’t think that’s what it really is.”
I looked at him.
“I think it’s missing who you were when you were with that person,” his voice dropped. “Because you don’t get to be that version of yourself anymore.”
The words settled heavy between us.
“I miss Charlie,” he whispered, the pain in his voice hitting harder than I expected. “I’ve missed him every day for the last three years.” He looked out over the water. “I miss who I was with him. I miss the person I was before everything changed.”
I stayed quiet. I understood that kind of loss. Not the same, but close enough.
I leaned into CJ, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Tell me more about him,” I whispered.
CJ looked down at our joined hands, and for a moment, I wondered if he would answer. Then he took a slow breath and started to speak.
“He trusted people. Probably too much,” he said quietly. “He always wanted to see the best in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.” His eyes stayed fixed on the water. “He was kind. He cared deeply. But he had a wild side, too. Anyone who hurt someone he loved? They answered to him.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth.
“He fought like he’d been born for it, in the army and outside of it. He loved hard: his family, the army…” He took in a deep breath. “…me.” The last word came out barely above a whisper.
“We met in basic training. I fell first, but it was more than that. Charlie was just… there. At work, at home, everywhere. He made me better. Made me want to be better.” His fingers tightened around mine. “I loved him with everything I had.” His voice cracked slightly. “Then he was gone.”
He turned toward me, still holding my hand. “I’m so fucking angry he’s gone, Eli. When Charlie died, he took a part of me with him. A part I’ll never get back.”
I didn’t say anything. I just pulled him in and held him, the way he had held me through every nightmare, every memory, every moment I thought I couldn’t breathe.
“Do you miss him?” I asked quietly.
CJ pulled back slightly, confusion crossing his face.
I smiled softly. “The old CJ.”
His expression changed, and for a moment, he just looked at me.
“Do you miss him?” I asked again quietly.
He didn’t answer straight away, but then a small smile touched his lips. “Sometimes.”
I nodded, because I understood.
I think I missed someone, too. Not Adrian. Not that life. I missed the Eli I was before Adrian: the version of myself who laughed more easily, who trusted people, who felt something other than fear, anger, and guilt.
I think that’s what CJ missed. It wasn’t that he wanted to go back; it was that he missed the person he was before he lost Charlie. The CJ who felt whole, complete, happy. The person who existed before grief changed everything.
Maybe that’s what losing someone really is: missing the version of yourself that existed when they were still there.
We stood there at the end of the pier, holding hands, neither of us needing to say anything else. Because for the first time, I think we both understood that maybe we aren’t trying to become who we were before. Maybe we’re learning who we are now.
